Behold The Future
by LadyShiva17
Summary: Our favorite Gaurdian of Gotham wakes up to find himself in a different world where Batman is married with a child. Everything is better than he could have imagined, until tragedy strikes. In the end, which life will he choose?
1. Confusion

**A/N: **Hi! I know I really should be working on my other numerous, unfinished projects... but I just couldn't help myself. I think maybe after I get the next chapters for ones like "Masquerade", "Additions", and "Question", I will put them SORT of on "hold" as I work to make this one my priority. Mostly because I like it right now. Maybe you, as readers, won't so much. If you do, I'll keep this one up and running. Don't worry, I haven't abandoned the others, but I've just run to a bit of a stand-still with them. Anyways, please read and review. Reviews are always appreciated. Here's the summary. Enjoy! (PS: Something was wrong with my spellcheck, so beware, and I apologize in advance.)

**Summary: **Our favorite Gaurdian of Gotham wakes up to find himself in a different world where Batman is married with a child. Everything is better than he could have imagined, until tragedy strikes. In the end, which life will he choose?

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any DC characters, or anything like that. This is a FAN-fiction. Glad we got that out of the way.

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"Behold The Future"

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Chapter One: Confusion

I can't think. Head hurts. I hear a low groan, and then I realize that it's coming from me. I don't know where I am, so I open my eyes in an attempt to get a grip on my surroundings. Cautiously, I open them a crack, but I am only rewarded with darkness. It must be night. But I need to know, I need to look around. With a defiant grunt, I roll onto my side, the back of my skull throbbing with a dull, incessant pain.

The bed beneath me holds a familiar feel, and I can tell the sheets I'm wrapped in are expensive. Probably satin, like my own at the manor. Placing one hand on the mattress, I lift myself up, shifting into a sitting position, or something like it. But as soon as I'm even partially vertical again, I'm immediately disoriented. Furiously blinking, I try desperately to regain my bearings and at the same time adjust to the pitch black environment. After a minute, I can make out a few big objects in the room, and again I am hit with a wave of deja vu. That's when I realize where I am.

This room is my bedroom. A sense of relief washes over me, and my breathing slows. I must've had a nightmare, and then woke up without the memory. Except if that's what happened, why is my head pounding? Something's not right. It's the air.

I inhale. There is a distinct, sweet-smelling aroma to it, which, incidentally, isn't supposed to be there. Cinnamon. It's a very familiar scent. _Wait...._ In a panic, I jerk my head to my right, and my suspicion is confirmed. Sleeping peacefully next to me, her dark hair jutting out wildly over the pillow and smelling faintly of cinnamon, is....

"Selina...," I whisper her name to myself, making it slightly more believable. I don't understand. Why is Selina here? Why is she in my bed? My mind is swimming, trying to find an answer. The last thing I remember doing was... fighting. Yes, I was fighting three or four men, thugs who work for... someone. Someone who I, for the life me, can't remember. I was busy kicking and punching and throwing them aside and, suddenly, one of them pulled a gun. At least I think it was a gun. Then there was just black.

Did they shoot me? Was I killed? Am I... dead? I shake my head at the notion, and look down at the woman sleeping beside me. Then why would she be here? No, that doesn't make sense. I'm not dead.

Frustrated, I get up roughly and yank back the sheets that cover me. Sliding off the mattress, I stalk across the room over to the curtained, ceiling-high window, the pain of my headache gradually lessening. I peek through the slit between the dark curtains, the exact color unknown from the darkness of the room.

I have to squint to bear the light eminating from the city that lay a few miles away, as my eyes had just been adjusted to the dark. I had always been glad that my family's home had not been in the center of Gotham, that we were seperate from the rest of the city and it's squalor.... My reverie was suddenly broken by a voice, both syrupy and a little croaky, no doubt from her abrupt awakening. Instantly I regretted my carelessness when storming out of bed. Obviously, I had been far too noisy.

"Bruce?" She asks a second time, concern soaking her voice.

Pivoting slowly, I see that she's using her elbows to prop herself up half-way. She's wearing a dark, presumably black, tank with thin straps for a pajama top, from what I can see above the covers. Her shiny, jet-black hair is a wonderful, tusseled mess. Finally, her darkened green eyes meet my gaze. I must be wearing an odd expression because she frowns and tilts her head slightly.

"Are you okay?" She asks and sits up the rest of the way.

I open my mouth, but immediately shut it. I don't even know how, or why, this is happening. What can I tell her? _I'm_ the one that needs answers. After making sure the curtains are completely closed again, I walk back to my side of the bed. As I reach for the covers, her own hand precedes mine and pulls them back for me. Groggy as she may be, her features hold a worried expression, and I can only guess that I'm the reason.

Gently, I ease myself onto the bed and bring the covers up and over myself again. Once I'm comfortably seated next to her, Selina turns away from me, toward her bedside table, and looks at the digital clock sitting under the lightless lamp. Her slender shoulders slump at whatever the glowing red numbers convey, and she turns back to me.

"It's five in the morning," she yawns, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with one hand. _"_Is everything alright?" She looks at me, her beautiful eyes wide in question. _No, everything's wrong, _my psyche screams, but I hold myself together. Still in a dumbfounded daze, I nod slowly.

"Yeah," I clear my throat and close my eyes for a second. "Everything's fine," I say, trying my hardest to appear indifferent. I avoid her gaze for a minute, but after catching a glimpse of her telling face, I know she doesn't buy it. The question is, what exactly is it she's not buying? Does she know something I don't?

Selina quietly breathes out a sigh and edges closer to me. I feel strange at her intimate proximity to me, especially when I don't even know why she's there in the first place, or what's happened to me. She slips her pale hand around my waist and starts widely stroking my shirtless back. Her skin is cool against mine, my temperature still warm from my earlier panic attack. The way her hand moves is incredibly calming, and my eyelids are becoming heavy. She must sense that I'm finally settled down because she pauses to speak again, asking me a question.

"It was another nightmare, wasn't it?" She whispers, facing my shoulder, her breath tickling my arm.

I stiffen at her words, and my eyes shoot open. "What?" _How do you know? _I don't remember telling her about the horrible nightmares, the ones I've suffered from for a long time. "No, it wasn't a nightmare."

I turn to look down at her. She gives me a sympathetic look, but nods, even though unconvinced, and lets go of me to slide below the covers. Lying on her side to face me, she takes hold of my arm, encouraging me to join her. I don't hesitate to oblige, easing myself down beside her.

"You know you can always talk to me," she says, nuzzling into my chest. I nod. "Good," she smiles, falling back asleep as she's speaking. "Go to sleep, honey."

I want to do just that, but I also want to figure out what this is all about. After a minute of internal struggle, my exhaustion wins out. In her slumber, Selina places her hand gently on my face, between my jaw and neck. The tingling sensations return, and I put my hand on top of hers and shut my eyes. Maybe this isn't so bad.

My fingers are entwined with her long, slender ones, playing with them as I fall asleep. Coming to her third finger, I feel something foreign on her skin there. It's hard, even metallic. Exploring, I suddenly realize what it is I'm touching. My dozing eyes spring open, and I tug her hand down into view. What I see next makes my heart nearly stop.

Two circular objects are wrapped about her finger. One holds a large diamond, encrusted with two large emeralds on either side, the other just a simple gold band. Suddenly afraid, I look down at my own hand. There, on my finger, is a perfectly matched, glistening gold ring.

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	2. Surprises

**A/N:** Chapter 2! Caution: things get a little cute. (Muhaha.) I'm glad someone, other than me, likes this so far. It's going to be mainly told through Bruce's POV, just so you know. R&R! :D

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Chapter Two: Surprises

Four hours later, I wake up, haphazardly sprawled out on the huge bed. The curtains are pulled back and the soft morning sunlight touches everything in the room. I notice that the other side of the bed is empty, Selina is gone. She must've opened the drapes when she got up. Carefully, I haul myself up into a sitting position, like I had last night. Then I remember what I had seen last night, and my breathing speeds up.

We were both wearing rings. Maybe it was my imagination gone off in a frenzy. _Maybe...._ I hold up my left hand to check. I swallow. The solid gold ring sitting on my third finger is as real as I am. _This is crazy. _Selina and I can't be married. When did that happen? My breathing is shallow and quick. All the confusion and worry from the past night is coming back to me. _This is wrong,_ I shake my head._ This is all wrong._

Slowly, I crawl out of the bed, grateful when my feet make contact with the floor. Glancing around the room, which is arranged a little differently than I remember, I spot a navy blue, silk robe, that I assume is mine, hanging from a stand. Stumbling over, I slip my arms into the sleeves and tie a loose knot around my waist. I pause to look around the room. Perhaps I can find something that will give me a clue to whatever game is being played.

I recognize my large, chestnut bureau standing against the center wall and make my way over. The surface of it is cluttered with various items that I've never seen before, including a few stray papers, cards, a small black comb, tubes of lipstick, and an antique silver tray holding bottles of perfume and some jewelry. Even the tall, square mirror attached to the back is a jumble. Crinkled photographs and a few news clippings line all four edges of the mirror, crammed between the frame and the glass.

My brows crease as I hunch to get a look at the photos. Most of them depict Selina and myself. There are a couple of Dick with Barbara, and some of Tim, too. Oddly, there aren't any of Barbara in her wheelchair. Shrugging it off, I move my eyes down to the desk top, where five or so cards are standing amidst the crowded mess. Gingerly, I pick one up and read it, and I immediately drop it back onto the dresser. It's an anniversary card.

"_Congratulations, Bruce and Selina! Three years already? Love, Dick and Babs."_

_Three years?_ My eyes wander over the surface and are drawn to another photo, slightly larger than the rest and framed under glass. Set on what I recognize as the hill above Wayne Manor, stand two smiling people. The man, in a crisp, black tuxedo with a white lily bud pinned to his lapel, has his large hands clasped around the woman's stomach. While the groom looks altogether dashing, the bride is breathtaking. She's wearing an off-white, defiantly strapless, gown with silver and green designs embroidered from the bottom hem upwards, fading as it nears her knees. One of her gloveless hands is wrapped around a bouquet of white lillies, and the other rests on her husband's arm. Eyes on each other, their expressions are the very definition of love and sincere joy.

To any other person, the photo simply looks like a pair of normal, ecstatic newly-weds. But seeing who the couple in the photo are, I stagger back, as if I had been punched in the ribs. The bride and groom are Selina and myself. _So we really are married, then.... _

An idea strikes me and I rush across the room to the adjoining master bath. Only sparing a glance or two at my new surroundings, I notice two bergundy towels hanging next to the the jacuzzi tub, numerous make-up tubes and palettes littering a portion of the marble counter top, and even a pink toothbrush standing in the holder next to my own. Turning my attention to the medicine cabinet, hidden within the mirror installed above the porcelain sink basin, I pull it open and rifle through the contents. There! A small, orange prescription bottle. There are about a dozen pills left. I read the label.

_"Prescribed to: Mrs SELINA WAYNE. Post-partum Anti-depressants: Sertraline (Zoloft). Directions: 50-200 mg/day."_

There it is, plain as day: Mrs Selina Wayne. ..._Wait a minute._ I re-read the label. _Post-partum?_ Selina was pregnant? A second time? _But, that would mean that we...._ My breath catches, and my eyes widen, at the thought erupting in my mind. I need some air. It seems I can't get out of that bathroom fast enough, and already I am standing in the hallway outside of the bedroom, my breathing heavy and my hands trembling.

I lean against the ornately papered wall and compose myself. I squeeze my eyes shut. I must be dreaming. _None of this is real._ It simply can't be.... I run a hand through the thick, black hair atop my head and let out a long sigh, trying to calm down._ I'm just dreaming...._

A shrill giggle, followed by more lighthearted laughter, snaps me back to my senses. It's coming from the room right next to the master bedroom. Thinking back, I recall that this room had belonged to Tim, before he left for college. I cautiously turn the polished brass knob and open the door a few inches, the laughing and giggling louder now. Sticking my head around the corner, I smile, despite my recent anxiety. I've stumbled across a happy scene.

The room has been redecorated as a nursery: painted a cheery, pale yellow; a dainty, cupcake-themed border lining the tops of all four walls; white, floor-length curtains accent the tall, wide window; and in the middle stands a roomy, white-painted crib, complete with a sun and moon mobile circling above. But the best part of this room is who's in it.

Standing next to the open crib, with the bar pushed down, and facing the bright, glowing window, is Selina. Her wide smile, accompanied with the laughter and baby-talk, is directed down towards the small bundle she's holding in her arms. The baby giggles again, it's tiny pudgy arms flailing wildly at the sound of it's mother's soft voice. _Mother.... _I want desperately to see my baby, to see it's face and it's eyes and nose and mouth.

Before I realize what I'm doing, I silently approach the pair from behind. I don't want to startle either of them, but I realize that my efforts are in vain when Selina turns around to face me, as if I was expected. She smiles, and I stop at the sight of her. The sunshine outlines her perfect figure and sets off her emerald eyes, making them seem even brighter than normal. She's still in her pajamas: the dark tank top, affirmatively black, and a pair of grey, silk capris. Her hair, too, is still a pretty mess, and the light shines through it attractively.

"'Morning," she grins. Turning to the baby, she adds in a more childish voice, "Say 'good morning' to Daddy!" In response, the baby makes some gurgly noises, and Selina laughs again.

I want so much to be a part of their happiness. So I get closer. I'm close enough now that I can smell both cinnamon and talcum powder. Selina gently tickles the baby's cheek, launching another fit of baby giggles, then turns to me. My attention is possessed, though, by the little one wrapped in the pink blanket. She gently clears her throat and I quickly turn back to her. She's smirking.

"What?" I ask innocently, still rapt by the flushed, full-cheeked baby, who'd started making irresistible faces to no one in particular. Selina just shakes her head.

"She always did have you wrapped around that chubby little finger," she smiles, in defeat. "It's hopeless, really." I'm speechless then, shocked beyond words. So I say the only thing that's playing on a loop in my brain.

"I have a daughter," I whisper outloud, but it's barely audible. Selina must have heard me, though, because she sighs at my words.

"Do you ever," she muses, passing our baby girl to me. "Here, you take her. I've got to get ready." Not quite prepared, I delicately accept the bundle into my arms, careful not to injure the beautiful creature. Suddenly alarmed by her last comment, I stare, wide-eyed.

"Why? Are you going someplace?" I'm not sure if I can handle a baby on my own, reality or not. Selina gives me an incredulous look, as if I already know the answer to my own question.

"The dress-fitting is at ten o'clock, remember?" She reminds me.

Struggling to balance the wiggling child, I pretend that I do remember, and give her an exaggerated nod. "Right...."

Selina shakes her head again, probably sensing my discomfort. "Don't worry, Bruce. If you have trouble, Alfred can take over." She pauses. "But, after seven months, I think you should be used to this stuff by now," she grins and leans in close to my face. After planting a soft, parting kiss on my cheek and nuzzling her daughter's tiny nose with her own, she makes her way to the doorway. Stopping at the exit, she throws a glance over her shoulder. "I'll try and be back soon, babe."

And with that, she's out the door and I'm left holding the baby girl I never had. _I wonder what her name is...._

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	3. Laughter

**A/N:** Wow! I am so happy with the reviews I'm getting. I adore you guys! Yeah, this is my first real attempt at a 1st-person POV, and I'm finding it's not too difficult to write. Juts hope I can keep it up... :) On the Bruce+Baby story topic, I totally agree. I HATE a "goo, goo, ga, ga" Bruce. (Possibly more than I hate Jez Jet, haha) So, even though I'm trying really hard, please let me know if I accidentally make things too sappy/cutesy. K? Anyways, here's chapta 3! Please R&R! Peace. (Oh! PS: Any ideas for a name for this ah-dorable baby girl? I will take into consideration any input you may have.)

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Chapter Three: Laughter

Standing there, in the middle of this new, unfamiliar nursery, I am in awe of the tiny, giggling bundle in my arms. I gently move the soft, pink cashmere blanket away from her face to get a better view. Her lips are perfectly defined, and plump, like most children's, just as her rosy cheeks. Clearly, she has Selina's nose, aquiline but not too sharp, and slightly upturned at the end.

Finally, my eyes meet hers. The irises aren't green, as I half expected them to be, similar to her mother's. And they aren't blue, like mine. No, our daughter's eyes are a color in between, a perfect blend of the two. Turquoise like the sea. The top of her little head is covered in a thin layer of feathery, dark brown hair, nearly black, but not yet. Without a doubt, she's going to end up with a full head of thick, night black hair. It's so obvious, her parent's genes considered.

I can't help but laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. It's all so unreal. I still can't believe that I have a daughter. And such a beautiful one, at that. She stops mid-smile and watches me laugh. Afraid that maybe I've spooked her, I stop, too. After a few seconds of silent eye contact, she suddenly explodes with laughter, arching her back and swishing her hands in the air like some sort of, relatively small, wild animal. Startled, I stretch my arms to hold her a little farther away, just in case one her tiny fists comes too close to my face._ I wonder if I always have this effect on her._

Watching as the crazy laughing baby eventually settles down, I smile softly, and I can feel my eyes fill up with hot, unshed tears. It's been a long time since I last wept, or even thought about weeping for that matter. Blinking the feeling away, I bring my heaving daughter close, into my chest, and rock back and forth on the heels of my feet. I stay like this for bit, revelling in the perfection and sheer serenity of the moment.

After five or so minutes, I steal a quick glance at the child's face, only to find that she's still very much awake. It bothers me that I still don't even know what my own daughter's name is. I guess I'll just have to somehow find out myself, without revealing the strange situation that I think I'm in. She looks at me again and this time gurgles out some kind of gutteral sound that only babies make.

Just then, my empty stomach growls, demanding to be fed. Her huge, turquoise eyes widen at the noise and the vibration that rumbles throughout her small, seven-month-old body. Normally, I'd simply ignore my body's subtle request for food and continue on with whatever I was working on. Unless, of course, Alfred was around to hear it. If that happened, I could count on being forced into eating.

Right now, however, it occurs to me that it's nearly ten and I still haven't eaten any breakfast. Plus, there doesn't seem to be any detective work for me at the moment, that is if I still _am_ Batman in this strange world. Raising my thumb, I lightly stroke my daughter's soft chin, making her react as if she was just tickled.

"Come on, baby," I say, quietly heading to the nursery door. "I should eat."

Stepping out into the hall again, I take a look around. Over the polished mahogany railing, the immense foyer is brightly lit, thanks to the daylight coming in through the four, large skylights installed in the ceiling. Everything is still and silent, save for the ticking grandfather clock that can be heard all the way from the study, and the sporadic, bubbly noises made by the baby I've got in my arms.

Quietly, I descend the marble steps of the grand staircase, sticking close to the banister. _I am holding a _baby_, after all, and she's got to be fragile, right? _Finally, I'm on the main floor, where I catch a faint whiff of something delicious coming from the kitchen.

Making our way to said area, baby and I come upon a familiar sight. Even from the backside, I would know my faithful butler anywhere. Standing at the stove, wielding a long-handled wooden spoon, and humming an old english tune, is Alfred Pennyworth.

Seeing the older man, the little girl squeaks for joy. My heart swells at the knowledge that the people most important to me are adored by my daughter, and vice versa. At the sound, Alfred abruptly spins around, still stirring with one hand, his other never leaving the pan handle. His mouth stretches out in a wide, caring smile. Like one often sees on the face of a kind, loving grandfather.

"Good morning, Master Bruce," he nods towards me before focusing his attention on the gleeful, smiling child that I'm holding. He turns off the gas element and comes up to her. He playfully pokes her blanketed belly, and lets loose another squeal. In my head, I will the man to call her by name, but he doesn't, much to my chagrin.

"And good morning to you, dearest!" She's about to start kicking wildly in excitement, so Alfred clears his throat and straightens up before she can be encouraged further. Returning to the stove, he takes the frying pan and begins dishing out whatever's inside onto two china plates. "Eggs for breakfast, Master Wayne?"

"Sure. That sounds great, Alfred," I answer him, finding my voice again.

I shift the wieght of my passenger to my other arm and pull out a chair-like bar stool and slide in at the granite counter-top island. Once I'm comfortable enough, I recall when it was I last saw "the old" Alfred. I was busy down in the Cave, drawing up files I needed for a case, no surprise that I can't remember _which_ case, and he was insisting that I refuel my body with something edible. I probably just brushed him off, as usual.

Strange. I can seem to remember people and situations, just nothing too specific. Yes, it's odd, to say the least. What's really going on here? More importantly, who here might be able to assist me? Or is everyone here a part of it, whatever "it" is? I accidentally let out an involuntary groan, but Alfred's busy and his back is turned at the moment, so he doesn't notice.

This is frustrating. I clamp my hand onto my jaw and swipe downwards, ignoring the stubble that scratches my calloused hands. Just as I do so, Alfred arrives with two plates, one for each of us, accomodating scrambled eggs topped with melted cheese; bacon and buttered toast on the side; and a hearty glass of orange juice each.

Before sitting down himself, though, he comes around the island and gently takes the fidgeting baby from me and effortlessly places and secures her in a wooden, yellow-painted highchair at one end of the counter-top. As if magically, he produces a bottle of milk and presents it to her, and she grabs it impatiently.

He sits down across from me and the three of us have our breakfast in silence. I don't ever recall sharing an actual meal with Alfred. He always said it wasn't proper for a valet to dine with the master, but we'd occaionally eat together in the kitchen. Though that was rare, too, since I had become accustomed to simply having a sandwich down in the Cave while I worked. Perhaps now, or in this different world at least, things are more relaxed between us. I'm sure a couple, if not a few, past priorities have been placed on the back-burner, so to speak, since the baby was born. Maybe even earlier than that, maybe it started when Selina and I were first married. Whatever happened, I'm not sure I mind so much....

"Did Selina get breakfast?" I ask. She had seemed a tad rushed when I met her this morning. I glance at the digital display above the stove. It's ten o'clock now, the time of her appointment, she'd said.

Alfred swallows his mouthful of egg before answering. "I believe she had a quick piece of toast with jam on her way out the door."

"That's good," I nod in acknowledgement. "Any idea of when she might be back?" I wonder outloud.

Our old butler purses his lips, and raises an eyebrow at my question. "The dress-fitting shouldn't take very long," he pauses, as if to reconsider his remark, and continues. "But, if it isn't too bold of me, sir, ladies often enjoy taking their time while perusing the boutiques. Especially, I've observed, in the area of formal wear."

His insight causes me to flash a small, knowing grin. _Formal wear, huh? _I wonder why Selina is shopping around for a dress in the first place, but then I remember that she's already found one, apparently. She had a dress-fitting scheduled today. Perhaps I can wheedle some additional information from Alfred.

Finished with my food, I clear my throat and push my plate gently aside. "Doesn't Selina have enough dresses already?"

Alfred smiles, collecting the dirty dishes. "Master Bruce, performing the duties of the matron of honor at a wedding ceremony is widely accepted as a valid reason for the purchase of a new gown."

Selina is a matron of honor? Wedding?_ Who do we know that's getting married? _I really want to know, and get things straight, but I have to be careful. I don't want to give away my predicament in the process.

I'll just have to risk one more question, well-aware of how stupid it must sound to Alfred. "Who's wedding, Alfred?"

He pauses in the middle of loading the stainless steel dishwasher and stares at me, incredulous. "Why, Master Richard and Miss Gordon's wedding, of course," he reminds me. "Are you quite alright, Master Bruce?"

***


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